


see the light

by lais



Category: TXT (Korea Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Action/Adventure, Airbending & Airbenders, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Magic, Best Friends, Brotherly Bonding, Earthbending & Earthbenders, Elemental Magic, Fate & Destiny, Firebending & Firebenders, Mystery, Waterbending & Waterbenders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-12-25 17:02:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18265619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lais/pseuds/lais
Summary: "Well, kid," Jungkook said, brushing off the leftover ash on his shoulders, "What if I told you that you were born to save the world?"Yeonjun choked on his sandwich. Jungkook searched for any sort of reaction from him as Yeonjun downed the glass of water."I'm sorry," Yeonjun spluttered, "You said what?"





	1. prologue

 

**DATE: UNKNOWN**

**TIME: UNKNOWN**

**LOCATION: SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA**

 

The Lone Star was South Korea’s largest and most exquisite club. Boasting a world-class reputation and hosting celebrities, political figures, and others of high class, the club was nothing less than extraordinary. Its big doors were guarded by bouncers, the red carpet leading into bass-boosting music and a wild night.

 

But, that’s all the information that people know.

 

What occurred inside was a mystery. Videotaping and photography were strictly prohibited. All information regarding it was privately disclosed, held under the phrase, ‘ _Come find out yourself_.’ The only snippet that newspapers could give away was that people would walk out the next morning, ecstatically insisting that it was the best night of their lives.

 

That itself made the public curious; just _what_ happened behind the closed doors? What did The Lone Star have that made it so successful? Was it the deep purple curtains? The foreign strippers? The countless collection of booze and the finest soju? The dying question would never be answered, unless you ventured into The Lone Star yourself.

 

A man standing in the corner frowned as he checked his phone screen. His freshly dyed silver hair illuminated under the neon party lights. Underneath his dark suit coat was a messily untucked striped button down shirt, and his long legs shifted back and forth impatiently.

 

“He’s late,” he mutters, and then shuts his phone off, sliding it back into his pocket.

 

He somehow snuck into the club through the backdoor (which is an impossible feat in itself), constantly scanning his surroundings. He could barely see what was happening in front of him amidst of the large party crowd, and quickly dodged a girl who drank way too much for the night, hurling her stomach contents to his left. He winced, taking another swig of soju; this was _not_ what he was here for.

 

“Kim Namjoon?”

 

The man looks up to the voice who called him. Unlike Namjoon, the man is wearing casual clothes; dark blue jeans, and a large black hoodie that covered his whole frame. Setting down his half-empty green bottle with a _clunk_ , Namjoon’s greeted with an outstretched hand and shakes it firmly.

 

“That’s me. You were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago.”

 

“Things came up,” the male responded, waving his annoyance off. He starts to fish around in his pockets. “Do you have what we discussed?”

 

Namjoon shows him what he wants; the man looks for ten seconds before nodding, and hands him a manila envelope. They exchange items. Namjoon quickly takes his, sliding it into his suit pocket. The man quickly disappears and blends back into the crowd. Namjoon watches him leave, and as soon as he’s out of sight, he quickly makes a beeline for the exit to leave.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

 

He feels a heavy hand on his right shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he turns around to be greeted with four cloaked figures. His eyes widen, his fists curling up.

 

“Easy there, bender,” one of them laughs, “You wouldn’t want to make a scene inside of a club, would you?”

 

Nobody seems to notice them, too busy dancing, the music too loud. He can’t call for any help.

 

“Leave me the fuck alone,” Namjoon says back, his eyes blazing, “We stayed away from you guys and let you be. I expect the same treatment from you.”

 

“But if we do that, it isn’t any fun,” drawls a female voice, “And things have been boring lately. It’s time to have some excitement, is it not?”

 

“Things are boring because it’s _peaceful_ ,” Namjoon snaps at her, “Let me go. I have better things to do.”

 

“Bender, do you really think you can take out all four of us?” the other voice laughs. The figure gestures at the others, looking back at Namjoon. “Don’t get too cocky now. It’s been five years since then.”

 

“Five years doesn’t mean shit,” Namjoon spits, his fists clenched.

 

He starts to glow. A bright aura surrounds him  as power surges through his body. His silver hair is now stark white, his body starting to levitate in front of his attackers.

 

“Five years is _everything_ ,” one of the cloaked figures grins, throwing down a tarot card.

 

“You’ll just have to see.”

 

* * *

 

 

**DATE: UNKNOWN**

**TIME: 12:00 A.M**

**LOCATION: SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA**

 

It’s midnight. The wind howls through the trees as the moon waxes and wanes; the streets bare and empty besides one lone figure.

 

Jeon Jungkook, twenty-six, kept his head low as he ran. He woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, his body so warm that he swore he caught on fire. It took him a few seconds to process what he just saw in his dream, but he soon grabbed his keys and bolted out of his apartment door.

 

Looking over his shoulder every other second, he quickly makes a few turns. The trees and streetlights become a blur as he flies down the empty streets. He quickens his pace, paranoid over the figure that was following him. He makes it to the familiar building, quickly looking over his shoulder once more before whispering into the keyhole.

 

“Fire.”

 

The locks on the door instantly click to the recognition of his voice, and he yanks at the doorknob to let himself in.

 

He swings the door open with a bang, greeting five other faces at the long table. Quickly shutting the door, Jungkook mumbles a quick password, locking everyone inside. As soon as he’s done, he turns around.

 

“Kook, what’s up?” one of them asks, his eyebrows furrowing in concern.

 

“Hyung, something is wrong. Something is terribly, terribly wrong,” Jungkook blubbers, his words barely audible.

 

“Speak clearly. Take a few deep breaths, Kook,” another motions, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

 

“Namjoon’s gone missing,” Jungkook said, catching his breath. He throws the tarot card onto the table for all of them to see. All five pairs of eyes widen at the deep blood red color and the ominous symbol on the back of the card.

 

“What?”


	2. beggar boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meet choi yeonjun; your typical lettuce boy.

 

 

 

**Name: Choi Yeonjun**

**Birthplace: Bu-dang Gu, South Korea**

**Age: 19**

**LIKES: Peach mochi, ramyeon, sleep**

**DISLIKES: Mornings, coffee, mustard**

**Fear: The dark, Johnny Seo**

 

There’s a common phrase that his mother used to always say to him. It didn’t matter the situation; if he came home that day, weeping how nobody befriended him, or if he received bad marks on a test, she would repeat the same words over and over again.

 

 _“Life is tough, my darling,”_ she’d chide, sliding a small ice cream bar across the counter, _“but so are you.”_ He’d take the bar, lip quivering and all, allowing the overly sweet melon flavor to overpower his salty tears. His mom would then flash him a small smile, silently reassuring him that it would be okay.

 

His mother was always a mystery to him. She didn’t tell him much about their family background; just that his father had died long before he was born, and that Yeonjun inherited his dark brown eyes. From what Yeonjun knew, he didn’t have any other living relatives, so the only two remaining people in his family was him, and his mom.

 

She was very supportive; making sure Yeonjun could see her amongst all the other parents during school plays, coming to cheer him on during sporting events, and always making sure to come in and talk with his teachers. But whenever Yeonjun mentioned his father or if there was anyone else in the family, she’d simply reply with, “ _If only there was_ ,” and left it at that.

 

That was back when he was nine; ten years have passed, and he’s nineteen now.

 

His troubles went from not being able to read out loud in class to working late night shifts at the local grocery market in order to make ends meet. Unlike others who spent their weekends singing karaoke or partying, Yeonjun unpacked lettuce heads and mopped the Orange Ade floors.

 

Orange Ade’s pay was decent enough, and most of the times, Yeonjun was free to do whatever he’d like. The occasional old grandma would come in, and he’d help carry her bags, but that was the extent of his labor. It didn’t get in the way of his schoolwork and was slow enough; and he was fine with that.

 

“Choi Yeonjun!” a voice called from the entrance. Yeonjun winces at the familiarity of the tone, bracing himself to face the speaker.

 

“Hello, Johnny.”

 

“What a nice way to greet a customer. As expected for someone who’s so poor that they gotta work extra hours,” the boy laughs, looking back at his friends for approval, “Am I right, boys?”

 

Johnny Seo; drives an A-class car, and was an A-class douchebag just to match. Roughly a head taller than Yeonjun, he easily towered over anyone he met. His parents were filthy rich, and Johnny made sure it was known by wearing only high-class designer clothing. Him and Yeonjun go all the way back into primary school, when Johnny dunked his head into the sandbox, and Yeonjun spent all night trying to get sand out of his ears.

 

“What can I do for you?” Yeonjun replies as politely as he can, ignoring the snickers from behind Johnny.

 

“We want you to give us all the soju you got,” Mark Lee piped up from behind Johnny. He was one of the guys that tailed behind Johnny as if he shitted out paper bills, wearing an almost identical outfit to Johnny himself. He nudges his head at the fridge and throws a pile of money onto the counter, which Yeonjun sighs at.

 

“Do you have an ID to verify that you are of legal age to drink?”

 

Yeonjun _knows_ he’s asking for a fight. An eyebrow raise from Johnny says enough.

 

“Don’t make it hard for us, beggar boy,” interjected Kim Doyoung. He was the lankiest of the bunch, his pearly whites flashing underneath the artificial lights. “Just give us what we want.”

 

“Unfortunately, it’s against the rules for me to hand out alcoholic beverages to customers not of legal age,” Yeonjun starts, turning his back on them to tidy the cash register, “In a few years, maybe you can some back and try again —“

 

He was interrupted mid sentence thanks to Johnny, who reached over the counter, yanking his shirt and grabbing him by the collar. Yeonjun feels his feet barely lift off of the ground as he hovers, making eye-to-eye contact with Johnny.

 

“Your momma in heaven would want you to give us your money!” Johnny sneered, bringing Yeonjun’s face to his, “Come on, man, it’s just a few extra bucks! Your boss will never know.”

 

“I’m not going to give you anything unless you pay for it,” Yeonjun replies. He slowly peels Johnny’s first off of his shirt, “And, I’d like if you could maybe not wrinkle my shirt this time. Ironing takes a lot of effort.”

 

“Oh, you’re definitely asking for it now, Beggar Boy,” Johnny laughs, nudging at Mark and Doyoung, “Let’s show this kid why he should learn to keep his trap shut.”

 

* * *

 

**DATE: UNKNOWN**

**TIME: 10:00 P.M**

**LOCATION: SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA**

 

Yeonjun groans as he trudges home. Pressing a bag of ice to his jaw and newly black eye (courtesy of Johnny), he winces as the pain pulses through his whole face. Johnny’s given him a few punches here and there, but it’s never been this bad.

 

He honestly has no idea why he puts up with it.

 

It’s almost midnight when he gets home. Yeonjun fishes through his pockets for his key, turning the doorknob and walking in. He’s greeted with the familiar quiet and emptiness of his apartment, turning on the lightswitch and watching as the lights flicker back on.

 

“I’m home,” Yeonjun calls out, fully-knowing that he wasn’t going to get a response; it’s been a long time since he last got one.

 

His mom died two years ago in a massive car crash. It was unexpected; his mom, so full of life, was suddenly empty of it. Surprisingly, he didn’t cry when the doctor poked his head out of the emergency room, shaking his head in defeat. He was the only one who attended her funeral, placing a small arrangement of sunflowers onto the casket before it was dug into the ground.

 

As Yeonjun came to learn, even after her death, his mom was still a mystery. She had no will, or belongings, or instructions for him. The only thing she left behind was a letter that he still hasn’t had the heart to open and read. What exactly was supposed to be in it?

 

Closing the door and kicking off his shoes, he throws his uniform jacket onto the coat rack before diving into the couch. Yeonjun sighs.

 

It’s already 10:00 P.M, but he’s still got a lot to do. He has to take out the trash, manage his rent for the month, do his homework, and wash the dishes that’ve sat in the sink longer than he can remember - he doesn’t even recall the last time his fridge was restocked. But, he chooses to listlessly stay on his couch, turning to his side to make eye contact with the picture on the ledge once more.

 

After a few minutes, he shuffles over to his small bathroom mirror, bringing his face close to the reflective surface. His reflection stares right back, and Yeonjun finally gets a good look at himself; bruised and battered, tiny shreds of lettuce that somehow got tangled in his hair, and the long expression of exhaustion painted over his face.

 

Does he even have anything he could use to treat his black eye? It’s been a long time since he’s remembered where his mom used to store their first aid kit.

 

It’s a hopeless cycle; working until he somehow graduates, and living as another grain of sand on a beach. He’s average and doesn’t stick out - he never has. Yeonjun wonders if there will ever be a time where he actually becomes _someone_ , or does _something_ different with his life.

 

The ice has long melted. Yeonjun rips a few pieces of paper towel from the roll and wets them, gingerly placing it over his eye. He curses at the stinging sensation, but chooses to try to withstand the pain anyways.

 

It doesn’t seem like that time is going to come anytime soon.

 

* * *

 

 

**DATE: UNKNOWN**

**TIME: UNKNOWN**

**PLACE: SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA**

 

It’s been two days since Jungkook burst through their doors with the card, and it’s been two days since they last saw Namjoon. The tarot card remained untouched since Jungkook threw it on the table. The remaining six were now huddled in a circle as an ominous silence spread over the room.

 

They’ve tried looking up the card and the symbol on the back, but weren’t able to gain anything beneficial to their search. They couldn’t place flyers with Namjoon’s face plastered on it all over the city, and they couldn’t ask the government for help. They were on their own for this one.

 

“My dreams are always true, hyung,” Jungkook insisted, “You know that.” His complexion was incredibly pale in comparison to his usual bright self, his hands moving to his head, his whole body starting to shake.

 

“I know what I saw. He was taken forcefully by a group of people. I saw him using his powers, but I can’t see anything past after his attackers threw the card.”

 

“But _why_ didn’t he tell us? Aren’t we a team?” one of the others presses, frustration evident in his voice. He starts sitting straight up in his chair, “He tells us everything. What could he possibly be hiding? Us seven saved the world at one point, for fuck’s sake!”

 

“Your guess is just as good as ours, Yoongi,” sighed Seokjin,  sitting directly across from Jungkook, “But, it’s been a long time since Namjoon has used his powers; he’s the one who didn’t believe in them anyways. So, if Jungkook is right, and Namjoon really used his powers, then he was _definitely_ in some deep shit.”

 

“He’s still alive,” murmured Taehyung. He ran his fingers through his blonde hair out of nervous habit, “We all would know if he’s dead; our link to him would’ve been cut off by now.”

 

“The question isn’t if he’s being detained,” Jimin adds, placing a comforting arm on Jungkook’s shoulders, “The question is _where_ ; and _why_.”

 

It’s quiet for a while; tension thick as the six try to decipher the connection between the card and their missing leader. Namjoon’s always tried to protect them (for which, he claimed was for their own good), but he’s never gone missing to this extent. In the past ten years that they’ve all known each other, Namjoon has always came back, telling them not to worry, and isolating himself back in his room.

 

“We need to get help,” Jungkook said, regaining his composure, taking deep breaths, “I know we don’t want to, but it’s our only way to get an answer.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh dear.  
> i wrote this during school and was honestly worried if i would ever get this done: but luckily i did! sorry if the story is somewhat confusing right now; i promise it'll start making sense soon. please share the story if you're enjoying it so far!


	3. sea blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meet choi soobin; a fish out of the water.

 

 

**NAME: CHOI SOOBIN**

**AGE: 18**

**BORN: ANSAN, GYEONGGI, SOUTH KOREA**

**LIKES: DOGS, TTEOKBOKKI (OF ANY KIND), ALMOND MILK**

**DISLIKES: SPICY FOOD, CATS, HORROR MOVIES**

**FEARS: THE OCEAN, LOUD NOISES**

 

Choi Soobin follows three rules in life.

 

  1. If homework is due tomorrow, you do it tomorrow.
  2. All almond milk should be stored in the fridge.



 

And finally -

 

  1. Sleep is life’s most precious gift.



 

“Choi Soobin!”

 

He’s woken up by a huge splash of seawater thrown on him. Flailing and falling off his bed, he’s greeted with the sight of his mom hovering over him, holding a large wash bucket that was now empty.

 

“What the hell?” he chokes out, coughing as he spits out the seawater from his mouth.

 

“Choi Soobin! It’s currently 8 A.M, and I’ve been calling your name for the last fifteen minutes! Get up, or you’re going to be late to school!”

 

She closes the door behind her, and he hears her footsteps disappear downstairs.

 

He spits a small piece of seaweed out of his mouth, throwing his pajamas into his hamper (which now reeked of salt and sand), and prayed that a hermit crab wasn’t hiding somewhere inside.

 

〰

 

As soon as he gets ready for the day, he clambers down the stairs, and his mom slides him his breakfast - a piece of plain toast, and a glass of almond milk - and just the way he liked it.

 

“Your father’s going out on the boat today,” she says, handing him a small sack, “When you get out of school, can you stop by and bring his lunch to him?”

 

Soobin’s father was a well-respected fisherman in their city and his mother was a retired sailor, and together they ran a stand at one of Busan’s largest fish markets. Depending on the weather and the season, his father would occasionally go out to sea, later bursting through the door with a sparkle in his eyes as he proudly told them of his catch that day. They’d sell the fish the next day, and the cycle would repeat itself.

“Yeah,” Soobin manages to answer, his mouth full of toast. He grabs the lunch, shoving it into his backpack.

 

He downs his almond milk in seconds, quickly grabbing his backpack slipping his shoes on. Getting on his bike, he yells a quick _I’m leaving, bye!_ and she waves him off.  

 

As ironic as it was, Soobin hates the ocean.

 

It’s weird; his parents both worked with jobs that were in relation to water, he lived by water, and his city was known for fishing, but Soobin couldn’t get himself to love it like the others did.

 

There was something about it that made his whole body get the chills; the murky depths, the inability to feel his feet touch the ground, and the creatures that swam in the darkest parts of the sea terrified him.

 

The ocean is a mystery; and that scared him.

 

〰

 

He arrives to class three seconds before the bell rings. The teacher hasn’t came yet, and Soobin makes his way to his seat.

 

“Look at who almost overslept; it’s a good thing that you don’t live too far.”

 

Soobin turns around to the person seated behind him, whacking the boy on the shoulder.

 

“Please,” he grins, making an equally snarky comment, “This is coming from the boy who falls asleep in class so often, that he has a permanent imprint of his drool on his uniform.”

 

Felix Lee was Soobin’s best friend. His family moved from Australia, and their fathers fished together often, so the two of them hung out all the time when they were little. They remained close throughout primary and secondary school, and now found themselves almost graduating. Felix was loud, and Soobin was quiet, and it made them the perfect pair.

 

“In my defense, my sister kept blasting her music until three in the morning,” said Felix, raising his hands up in mock-defense, “And our uniforms wrinkle easily.”

 

“Whatever you say,” Soobin said, sending him a teasing look, and Felix stuck his tongue out in response before turning to pay attention to the teacher.

 

〰

 

Soobin leans his bike onto a fence and hops off. The sea air hits him almost instantly. Seagulls flock and eye him curiously as he walks down the wooden deck. There’s several boats lined up, all glittering underneath the afternoon sun, and he hears a group of men laughing at the end. One of them pops his head out.

 

“Oh, hey, son!” his father called out to him, waving his hand, “Come on over here!”

 

Soobin was a spitting image of his father. They were relatively the same height, with matching jet black hair and a bunny-like smile. The only difference between them was that his father’s face was weathered from the countless years at sea and under the sun.

 

“Did your mom make that for me?” he asks, motioning at the sack Soobin was carrying with his left hand.

 

“Yeah. She asked me to drop it off for you,” Soobin answers, handing it to him. His father’s eyes light up, and instantly starts boasting about it to his friends, putting his meal on display.

 

“Hey, look here! I have the best wife ever, she even made me lunch! I have the best wife in the world!”

 

“Oh, please,” one of his friends says, lifting up his own lunch, “Look what my wife made me! My wife is the best cook in the world!”

 

“Is not!”

 

“Is too!”

 

“But _my_ son is going to be taking over my boat and my business, and he’s going to be the best fisherman that the world has ever seen!” Soobin’s father says smugly, a look of pride evident on his face. He turns to face Soobin with anticipation.

 

“Isn’t that right, son?’

 

The attention is now on Soobin.

 

“I’m undecided, dad,” Soobin laughs, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, “I’m still thinking.”

 

“You’re made for the sea life, son!” his dad exclaimed, giving him a good-natured slap on the back. “Your mom was an amazing sailor; one of the best of her time! And I’m one of the best fishermen in Busan! You’ve got the sea blood in you!”

 

“Yeah,” Soobin smiles, “I know.”

 

He bid his father and his friends goodbye again, hopping back on his bike and heading home.

 

“You’re home early,” his mother notes as he entered the house, “You’re not going out with Felix to eat tteokbokki today?”

 

He can tell that she just came home from work; her raincoat being left out to dry, rain boots still wet at the doorstep. She’s back in regular clothes, scurrying around the kitchen as she makes dinner.

 

“He’s got to babysit his little sister,” Soobin answers. He opens the fridge, grabbing the almond milk carton and pouring himself a glass, “We’re planning to go tomorrow.”

 

“I see,” she hums. He tries to grab a piece of food from the pan, but she smacks his hand away.

 

“Have you thought about your plans after graduation yet?”

 

Soobin sighs. His mom asks him this question every day, and every time, he gives her the same answer.

 

“I’m not sure yet,” he responds. She doesn’t say anything, turning the stove off.

 

“Have you thought about joining the fishing industry? I think you’d be great at it. Your father and I-”

 

“... _have sea blood, and so do I_ ,” Soobin says, finishing her sentence for her, “I know. You’ve told me this.”

 

“We just want to help you, Soobin,” she sighs, “Is it really that bad to go to college in Busan, and take over the stand when you graduate?”

 

“Life isn’t just about the sea,” he shoots back, placing his glass into the sink, “I want to explore and travel. The world has so much to offer, you know?”

 

“I know. Just think about it, okay?”

 

“I will.”

 

“Dinner will be ready in an hour or so. I’ll call you down when it’s time to eat.”

 

〰 

 

Soobin flops onto his bed face-first. Grabbing his headphones that lie on his desk, he puts on his favorite playlist, turning the music up to the loudest volume.

 

Ever since the beginning of the school year, Soobin’s parents have been asking him about becoming a fisherman. He’s tried to gently decline the offer, but they pay no heed, insisting that he’s got what it takes to become one. He’s not sure what they want more; for him to continue running the stand, or to become someone that they can brag about to their fishing friends (it’s probably a combination of both).

 

It’s frustrating when your future is already mapped out for you, especially when you don’t even know what _you_ want. Soobin’s simply just tried to survive school without putting any thoughts about his future into consideration, and now, he’s running out of time.

 

Most of the kids in his high school end up doing something in the fishing industry and stay in Busan; even Felix wants to become a coastal guard. But Soobin can’t picture himself anywhere near the sea or have anything to do with water in the future.  

 

The only thing that scares him more than the ocean is letting his parents down. He doesn’t know if he could be able to meet their disappointed faces when he tells them that he doesn’t want to become a fisherman - his father’s shoulders sagging, his mom silent. It’s scarier than anything the ocean could ever do to him.

 

If the world was an ocean, Soobin was a fish out of the water.

 

* * *

 

 

**DATE: UNKNOWN**

**TIME: UNKNOWN**

**LOCATION: SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA**

 

“This is a bad idea.”

 

“Come on, hyung, we’ve got to at least give it a try.”

 

“I said _no_ , Jungkook. If we use it, we’re literally asking for a disaster.”

 

“But this is our only hope!”

 

“No.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“ _No_!”

 

“ _Yes_!”

 

“For the love of God, can you guys _shut the fuck up_?”

 

Jungkook and Yoongi turned from their argument to be faced with an extremely annoyed Seokjin.

 

“You guys have been arguing for the past hour. I’m going to freeze both of you into statues if you keep talking.”

 

“It’s not my fault!” Jungkook insisted, “We have to use the ball. We all know it’s our only way to get any information on Namjoon!”

 

“And it’s not _my_ fault,” Yoongi defended, crossing his arms, “We also all know about the side effects of using it. What if we accidentally fuck up some time rift? Or what if it creates a monster again?”

 

“The risk is worth taking!” Jungkook says again, even more urgent this time, “Like I keep saying-”

 

Jungkook never finished his sentence. He turned around, wide-eyed as Seokjin placed a hand on his shoulder.

 

“I asked nicely for the two of you to shut the fuck up,” Seokjin snapped, his palms already starting to coat with ice, “Unless you really want to become popsicles that badly.”

 

Seokjin’s eyes were now a pale blue, his skin becoming even paler, and his hair turning stark white. The temperature inside dropped twenty degrees colder. Frost edged around the walls and ceiling, icicles creeping up from the floor and onto the chairs. Hoseok yelped as his hair started to freeze over, and Jungkook and Yoongi instantly stopped talking, too scared to move.

 

Seokjin usually was the one always smiling among them; but when he gets mad, it’s a scary experience. As soon as it was quiet, his palms started to defrost and the icicles shrank away, the room quickly turned back to normal. Reverting back to his original appearance, Seokjin took a seat, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighed.

 

“Jungkook’s right. We don’t know anything. We need to use the ball this time.”

 

Jungkook cheered and Yoongi opened his mouth to protest, but Seokjin cut both of them off.

 

“ _But_ , Yoongi is right; using the ball can cause some serious consequences. We have to be careful.”

 

Jimin and Taehyung came bursting through the door. They were disheveled, dust bunnies clinging to their shirts and pants, their hair going into all sorts of directions. They were carrying a large cardboard box, and quickly set it onto the table.

 

“We searched all around the attic,” Taehyung said breathlessly, “But we finally found it. It was underneath an old building plan.”

 

“It’s a lot heavier than I imagined,” Jimin added, “Really, how did Namjoon carry this all by himself?”

 

It takes several attempts to lift it out of the box, before delicately placing the ball onto the table. They create a makeshift stand out of towels to let it rest, finally seeing it in all of its glory. As soon as they lifted the thin purple cloth that was covering it, the ball started to glow, its aura radiating sheer power.

 

“Wow,” Hoseok whispers, “It really hasn’t changed.”

 

The ball glimmered back in response. It was molded out of pure crystal, the artificial light of the room reflecting and bouncing off of it. There were five orbs circling inside of the ball, each symbolizing its respective element. The orbs remained in a perfect 360 degree orbit; never colliding and always in order.

 

Created by the first oracles, the ball was made with the intention of foresight into the future. For hundreds of years, it was seen as a magical artifact, but was later passed down through families and generations, eventually becoming lost and forgotten. The Seven Sages of Old were the first human incarnations who rediscovered the ball in an ancient rune site, and were the first to use it. Knowing that the ball would eventually land into the wrong hands, they each decided to seal themselves and their powers away inside of it, creating a protective seal. Since then, the ball was passed down from incarnation to incarnation as a tool to help the next generation during times of despair.

 

Using it came with a price. There was a list of things that could happen if it was used incorrectly -  time rips, black holes, natural disasters, demonic creatures - the possibilities were endless. They learned the hard way five years ago when Seokjin tried to connect to the ball -  and almost died in the process.

 

“Someone has to connect us to it. Namjoon usually does, but…” Jungkook trails off.

 

In order to use the ball, one would have to place their palm on the surface and perform a ritual to break the seal and talk to the Seven Sages.

 

“I’ll do it,” Seokjin sighed. The others instantly became alarmed, turning to face the eldest.

 

“With Namjoon gone, I’m the only one eligible to do so. Namjoon and I were the only ones who had access to it, remember?”

 

“Hyung, you can’t,” Jimin said, trying to stop him. He grabbed Seokjin’s arm. “We can’t make you do it again; you almost died the last time!”

 

“It’s not worth your life,” Hoseok added, “If we can find answers another way, then we’ll do that instead.”

 

“But this can get us closer to finding out what happened, right?” Seokjin said, staring at the ball, “If it can, then it’s worth it.”

 

“Seokjin, are you sure? Please don’t feel forced into doing this; we can always find another way,” Taehyung asked, worry evident in his voice, “There’s always another option.”

 

Seokjin nodded.

 

“This is the fastest way to getting us an answer, and besides - Namjoon would’ve done the same thing.”

 

There’s a long pause, conflict washing over the others’ faces. Jungkook is the first to speak.

 

“Be careful,” Jungkook whispered, “Please. We almost lost you once; we can’t lose you again.”

 

Seokjin gave their youngest member an awry smile, taking the time to ruffle his hair.

 

“I’ll be fine, Kook. You should give me more credit than that,” he grins, half-teasingly, “Namjoon’s not the only one who’s cool here, you know.”

 

“Don’t push yourself, Jin,” Yoongi warns him. He’s nervously pressing his hands onto the table, his knuckles turning white, “I mean it.” Yoongi’s not the type to directly say how he’s feeling, but Seokjin can tell that he’s also nervous. He places a reassuring hand on Yoongi’s, silently telling him that he’ll be alright before turning back to the ball.

 

“Well, it’s now or never,” Seokjin says, taking a deep breath, “Here I go.”

 

He places his palm onto the smooth surface and closes his eyes, starting to mutter under his breath and chant.

 

_“Elements of fire, water, wind, earth, and tree,_

 

_I come to you to find my way._

 

_We’re lost and need to be found; and you’re our only way.”_

 

Seokjin goes into a trance, chanting and repeating the lines over and over again. He starts to transform; his dark brown hair turning a contrasting pale blue, his body starting to glow. His eyes stay closed the entire time.

 

“Come on, Seokjin, hang in there,” Hoseok whispers, gritting his teeth, “Come on, just a little more. You can do it.”

 

He starts chanting faster and faster each time, and a snowstorm follows. A blizzard soon picks up inside of the room, and heavy snow falls from the ceiling. Gusts of wind quickly form a barrier that separates Seokjin from the others.

 

“H-he’s almost there,” Jungkook says, his teeth chattering from the cold, “I feel it. He’s almost there.”

 

The ball is now covered in a block of ice, but Seokjin continues the ritual. It’s impossible to see him through the thick snow barrier, and his voice is soon drowned out as well.

 

* * *

 

“Did it work?” Jimin whispers. The five of them cautiously inch closer to Seokjin, whose hand is still resting on the ball.

 

“I think it did,” Taehyung answered, nudging at the middle of the room, “Look.”

 

The icy layer disappeared, and ball was glowing so brightly that they couldn’t even look at it directly. The five orbs inside of the ball were outside, floating towards Seokjin, who was still in his trance-like state.

 

“Ask, and you shall receive,” a voice booms through the room. It’s deafening enough to halt the snowstorm - the blizzard disappears, the wind dies down, and snowflakes hang mid-air. Jungkook and the other four quickly join their friend in the center of the room, shielding their eyes from the blinding light.

 

Seokjin finally opens his eyes.

 

“Where is Kim Namjoon?”

 

 

 


	4. cookie cutter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meet choi beomgyu, a cookie cutter.

**NAME: CHOI BEOMGYU**

**BORN: DAEGU, SOUTH KOREA**

**AGE: 17**

**LIKES: BAKING, SLEEPING, PLAYING THE GUITAR**

**DISLIKES: WAKING UP EARLY, DOGS, SPINACH**

 

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._ The familiar sound disrupts his oh-so-pleasant dream.

 

“Mm,” the boy mutters, “A few more seconds.” He presses the snooze button on his alarm clock, turning on his side before falling asleep again. His efforts are in vain, because soon enough, he’s interrupted -

 

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

 

Half-awake, he presses the snooze button once more. It’s silent, and he lets out a deep sigh, closing his eyes. But, once again, his efforts are wasted. Not soon after, he hears it again, but this time, even louder -   

 

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._

 

“Alright, fine, fine, I’m up!” he groans. He chucks a pillow at the alarm clock, and the beeps soon become muffled. He sighs, falling back down on his bed.

 

If there’s one thing Choi Beomgyu hates, it’s getting up early. He hears his mom calling for him downstairs, and gives in, sitting up in his bed and starts to get ready for the day.

 

Since he was little, Beomgyu has followed the same routine;

 

  1. He wakes up, and tries not to break the alarm clock.
  2. He brushes his teeth, and splashes water on his face.
  3. He puts his uniform on, and heads downstairs.



 

The Chois were a respected family of bakers. It all started when Beomgyu’s great-great-grandfather attempted to sell bread from his farm during his teen years, but soon became a hit, and the whole family learned how to bake bread. They happened to have a talent for it; and since then, they’ve all been baking. Beomgyu’s aunts and uncles often came by to share recipes with his parents, his cousins would compete to see who could bake the better pie, and there was always too many pastries to go around. Beomgyu himself had a knack for it; when he was only four years old, he taught himself how to knead dough.

 

His parents met in their early twenties. They always make sure to tell him how they met - they were classmates at passitiere school and his dad spilled buttercream on his mom’s uniform, and the rest was history. After graduating, they got married, and purchased a small building in Seoul. Deciding to live on the second floor, they made the first floor their bakery, naming it “La Vie.”

 

_“‘La Vie’ means ‘Life’ in French,” his mother explained to him, ruffling his hair, “Baking is our lives, and hopefully, you’ll like it too, Beomie.”_

 

“Beomgyu, who makes the better toast? Try mine - I put red bean paste in it - I know it’s your favorite,” his mom said, confidence evident in her voice.

 

Her usual long, sleek black hair is tied neatly into a low bun, and she’s clad in her apron and bakers hat. Though she was reaching her mid-fifties, she still maintained a youthful appearance, her eyes sparkling in anticipation for him to eat her pick.

 

“What about mine? There’s peach jam stuffed inside, you know, because it’s in season! Nothing can beat fresh peaches, not even red bean paste!” His dad presented his own creation, a smug look plastered on his face.

 

His dad was of average build, with salt and pepper hair a faint outline of wrinkles on his forehead. His father had a bright smile that seemed to attract everyone he met, his eyes emitting fondness and care.

 

Beomgyu laughs, and takes both pieces into his hands, eating it at the same time.

 

“They’re both good, I can’t decide,” he says with his mouth full, wiping the crumbs from the corner of his mouth.

 

“But mine’s better!” He takes out his own piece of toast; laughing at their reactions. His mom jokingly throws a rag at him, while his father cracks up.

 

✩

 

Beomgyu finishes wiping the windows until they’re spotless, and steps back to admire the bakery.

 

Standing on the corner of a busy street, its pale yellow paint makes it stand out among the grey buildings surrounding it. White and red roses lined the windowsills, and a small board spelling out _WELCOME_ stood next to the door. He had to admit that his parents did a good job with the design, and it was pleasing to see among all of the grayscale.

 

_“This bakery will be yours, someday, Beom,” his father once told him, lifting five-year old Beomgyu up on his shoulders for the toddler to see, “How do you like it?”_

 

“Beom, are you done with the windows? Can you come here and help with the tarts?” his father called from inside. Snapping out of his thoughts, Beomgyu rolls his sleeves up and heads back to the kitchen.

 

Beomgyu hums to himself as he sets up for the day. He places freshly-baked goods into the windows, places the chairs and tables, and fastens the apron around his waist. Elevator music soon floats through the bakery, and before he knows it, Beomgyu hears a small chime, signalling that a customer had arrived.

 

“Good morning, Mr. Shin!” he greets from behind the counter.

 

Mr. Shin’s a regular at La Vie, and always makes sure to stop by every morning at 6 A.M sharp. His eyes crinkle back as he smiles.

 

“Oh, Beomgyu, good morning!” The middle-aged man answers, tipping his hat.

 

“What can I get for you today?”

 

Mr. Shin casually scans the pastries on display. The options are endless - from flaky chocolate croissants to decadent cheese danishes, and raisin bread with honey to strawberry tarts - each stood proudly in its respected spot. Mr. Shin places his hand on the glass cover.

 

“I’ll have my usual.”  

 

“Three matcha sponge cakes and a loaf of milk toast, coming right up, sir!”

 

“Thanks, Beomgyu,” Mr. Shin smiles, dropping his extra change into the tip jar, “You never change.”

  


Beomgyu waves as Mr. Shin leaves with his pastries in hand, and greets the other regulars. Before he knows it, there’s a steady line of customers who slowly trickle in.

His father runs from counter to counter, placing trays down as he grabs empty ones.

 

“Beom, what time is it?” he asks hurriedly, “You have to go to school soon, don’t you?”

 

Beomgyu blinks; he completely forgot the time. He watches as other high school students soon come in, and it dawns on him - he’s late.

 

“Shift’s over, Dad! I gotta go!” he says, quickly untying his apron and throwing his bakers’ hat onto the coat rack. His dad hasn’t even said a word yet, but Beomgyu already dashed upstairs.

 

“You’re always running late,” his dad yells from downstairs, “You never change!”

 

✩

 

He straightens his black school uniform and slips on his pair of white tennis shoes. Politely excusing himself to the customers that were still coming in, he’s about to head out until his mom calls for him.

 

“Ah, Beomgyu, your lunch!” His mom runs out of the kitchen in the knick of time, placing the paper bag into his hands, “I packed a few extra cookies, in case you wanted to share with any of your friends.”

 

“Mom, I’m in high school,” he groans back, shoving the bag into his backpack, “Nobody’s gonna want cookies.”

 

“You never know! It’s the Choi Family Secret Recipe! Go on now,” she insists, before looking down and checking her wristwatch, “You’re going to miss the subway if you keep walking this slow.”

  


His mom is right. He missed his usual subway, had to hail a taxi, but only had enough money to go halfway. Beomgyu had sprinted the last mile before a woman accidentally spilled coffee all over him and his shoes. Even after all of that, he was still ten minutes late, and found himself standing in front of his teacher and classmates.

 

“Mr. Choi, would you like to explain to the class as to why you’re late?” the teacher asked him, and the class chuckled. Beomgyu’s ears started turning red as he looked down at the ground.

 

“I forgot the time, and a lady spilled coffee on me. It won’t happen again.”

 

“You never change, Mr. Choi,” his teacher sighed, shaking her head, “You can take your seat.”

 

“Now, back to page 111…”

 

✩

 

Like usual, Beomgyu finds himself in the kitchen rolling out cookie dough (a pastime he enjoys when he’s stressed out), long after they’ve closed the bakery. His parents are both upstairs, (probably arguing over who can make better fondant), and they’ll probably reheat some leftovers from the night before, and ask him the same questions he answers every day at the dinner table.

 

_You never change._

 

Those three little words define his life. He’s Choi Beomgyu; the boy who does the same thing every waking minute of the hour. There’s never a rift in his daily routine, and it’s like he’s constantly living in the same day over and over again. He’s never experienced what it’s like to live on the edge, to take a risk, or even know what it’s like to live differently. There’s never something that he doesn’t expect - his life is too comfortable, too normal, and too routine to the point where it’s suffocating.

 

While deep in thought, Beomgyu continues to roll the dough, but soon panics when he realizes he accidentally rolled it too thin. The dough now has the same width as a sheet of paper, and he groans, mushing it together before chucking it into the trash can.

 

“Well, at least this is the first time I’ve messed up making cookies,” he half-heartedly laughs, grabbing another batch.

 

Beomgyu reaches below the counter for the cookie cutters, and scatters them on his work surface. They’re all identical to each other; five-edged stars with a slight dent on the tip from when his father accidentally stepped on them.

 

He rolls the dough out perfectly this time, and proceeds to make shapes out of the dough. Placing each of them onto a baking sheet, Beomgyu’s interrupted by his mom calling for him.

 

“Beomgyu, if you’re not up here in ten seconds, your father’s going to eat your portion!”

 

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” he yells back, taking off his apron. He runs back upstairs.

 

Choi Beomgyu is like a cookie cutter; always the same shape, and never changing. He’s stuck in a mold that he can’t quite seem to break out of, and has never known what it’s like to be something, or someone else.

 

It’s suffocating, to say the least.

 

* * *

 

 

**DATE: UNKNOWN**

**TIME: UNKNOWN**

**LOCATION: SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA**

 

“Where’s Kim Namjoon?” Seokjin asks again. His eyes are glowing, and he’s still under the trance as the ball begins to answer. The orbs pull back and begin to form a circle, and the voice resonates again.

 

“The time has come,” it booms. The orbs rotate as it speaks, creating sparks that fly throughout the room, “Kim Namjoon knew this, and he tried to stop them. Time is moving faster than it should be.”

 

“What?” Jungkook hissed to Jimin, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

 

Two of the orbs shatter, and the shards plummet to the ground. The boys barely avoid it, and the voice continues.

 

“If you want to find him, find them first.”

 

With that, the remaining five orbs return back into the ball, which floats back onto the towel. The shards disappear, and Seokjin finally opens his eyes again, back to his normal self.

 

“Huh?” He blinks, staring down at his palms. The other boys rush to him, engulfing Seokjin in a huge group hug.

 

“Hyung, hyung!” Taehyung says, half-excited, half-relieved, “Y-you did it! You used the ball successfully!”

 

“I did?”  Seokjin said, confused on their expressions. Yoongi nodded, giving him a friendly punch. His brows are no longer furrowed, and a shadow of a smile lingers on his face.

 

“Yeah, you did,” Yoongi said, “The ball didn’t get you this time.”

 

“Hyung, we’re one step closer to finding out about Namjoon!” Jungkook cheered, giving Seokjin a high five, “We couldn’t have done it without you! And you were so cool with your ice powers and everything? I genuinely thought you were Jack Frost for a few seconds!”

 

“Good job, Seokjin,” Hoseok said, giving him another hug, “I was really scared for a second.”

 

Jimin was the only one who hasn’t spoken yet, and Seokjin is the first to notice.

 

“Jimin, is everything okay?”

 

The younger snaps out of his daze, meeting the six (now) concerned pairs of eyes.

 

“Guys, if the ball said time is moving faster than it should be, it means we’re losing our powers soon,” he says, his face solemn.

 

“There should have been another fifty years before we started losing them."

**Author's Note:**

> oh dear. here we go.  
> truth be told, this is my first ever txt fic, and my first ever bts fic. i'm definitely nervous posting this because it's in no way in comparison close to the other amazing works from both fandoms...but i really wanted to give this a try. i'm undoubtedly worried over my terrible pacing skills, but hey! it's finally here! it's heavily un-betaed, so i'll most likely go back in and fix my grammar mistakes. please let me know what you think so far!
> 
> a lot of my mutuals aren't very fond of txt or bts, but you can find me on my main account [here](https://twitter.com/meteorskies), or my side txt account @99PLANETS!


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